


vanilla salt

by caandlelit



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Banter, Flirting, Hand & Finger Kink, High School, M/M, Pining, Romance, Summer, Tenderness, except thats very light, happy matsuhana day xx
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:54:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29180586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caandlelit/pseuds/caandlelit
Summary: ‘You’re killing my poor wallet,’ Issei will remark, because he doesn’t know when to stop.‘Just giving it the attention it needs,’ Takahiro will reply after giving his ice cream a long lick. ‘It’s wasting away, see, rotting where it’s tucked into your unflattering pants-‘‘-Enough about the uniform, holy shit I fucking get it already-‘the walk home, shared ice creams, and a tired and overly romantic internal monologue by matsukawa issei
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro & Matsukawa Issei, Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei
Comments: 33
Kudos: 142





	vanilla salt

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY MATSUHANA DAY I HAD A VANILLA CORNETTO ICE CREAM AFTER SCHOOL TODAY AND WROTE THIS IN 3 HOURS

Issei and Takahiro always share a vanilla ice pop after school.

The ritual started on a regular day and the giddy look on Takahiro’s face when presented with the ice lolly options at the general store near Aoba Johsai High School convinced Issei within the second to buy him sweets every day for the rest of his life.

Takahiro had been bewildered when Issei hadn’t bought one for himself. He’d offered some of his to Issei. He’s shameless, so he took the indirect kiss, and the next, and the next.

Every day, Issei walks towards the school gate once practice is over and Takahiro will be waiting, phone in hand and he’ll look up as Issei calls out to him and give him a wide, sweet smile, bright and genuine and pleased, like the mere sight of Issei has him delighted.

He’ll ruffle his hair and they’ll shove at each other and start walking back home. They stop at the general store by the school and Takahiro will look at Issei, his head tilted just so, and he’ll blink at Issei.

Issei will pretend his wallet isn’t already in his hand.

(‘God, you’re a leech, I swear,’ Issei grouches, searching for the right change.

‘What else will you possibly spend your money on?’ Takahiro argues. ‘I’m giving your poor, overstuffed wallet some fresh air!’

‘It gets fresh air daily,’ Issei says, every time, hoping his voice doesn’t sound too besotted. ‘You leech.’

‘If that’s how it is, I guess I’ll get some other guy to pay for my food,’ Takahiro says blithely, and walks into the store.)

Issei will splutter and follow and scramble to say he never said he _wouldn’t_ pay _,_ and Takahiro is _putting words in his mouth,_ and that _please don’t ask some other guy to pay you better have been joking, only because he’s willing to take one for the team, is all, he’d hate if some other poor sod had to spend his time worrying about what prank Takahiro will pull next_ and Takahiro will step on his toes and Issei will be stuck cursing and the shop keep will tiredly tell him that the ice cream is melting, sir, please pay and leave.

He pays and hands it to Takahiro.

‘You’re killing my poor wallet,’ Issei will remark, because he doesn’t know when to stop.

‘Just giving it the attention it needs,’ Takahiro will reply after giving his ice cream a long lick. ‘It’s wasting away, see, rotting where it’s tucked into your unflattering pants-‘

‘-Enough about the uniform, holy shit I fucking _get it_ already-‘

His laugh isn’t like an angel’s chorus.

No, Issei thinks, eyes stuck on the way his hands move as he crumples up the wrapper and the way his skin gleams as his head turns to grin at Issei.

He’s pulled in like the tide by the moon.

Because it’s more like some otherworldly, hypnotic siren sound, demons and spirits whispering at his ears under the wind, and he stands, follows, watches, transfixed.

Sometimes when it's cold and Takahiro is shivering and Issei is telling him he told him so, he shouldn't have washed his hair after practice because now he'll catch a cold and who will take care of him then? That's right, it'll be Issei trudging up the block in his thick coat with homemade chicken and tomato soup in his hands, when it's freezing out and Issei is fighting the urge to layer his own sports jacket on top of Takahiro's already jacket-covered shoulders.

Yeah, on those days they get a meat bun instead. Issei tears the bun in two and steals a bite from Takahiro’s piece for attention and they’ll scuffle over the bigger half and Issei will take the warmth from how close he is.

He’s the leech here, he’s painfully aware.

_But it's summer._

Hot, long, blissful summer, with Takahiro's creamy, bare shoulders with the sunlight gleaming off the layer of sweat on his biceps and hooded, pretty eyes and the drip of sweat down his sun-flushed cheek.

Summer, giving a lovely curl to his sweat damp bangs, his hair growing longer and he’s too tired to get it cut and Issei thinks he’s so _pink,_ he’s so _perfect,_ it’s maddening.

Summer, bringing with it a new and as of yet unimproved Issei who stares an insufferable amount. More than usual, which, Issei admits, is quite a lot. More than usual is saying something.

It’s embarrassing, really.

He’s thinking about the ice lollies, though.

God, he wonders, kicking at rubble, hyperaware of the boy beside him. Does he ever really stop thinking about the ice lollies?

_The fucking ice lollies._

Takahiro likes the sweet ones. He gets mango flavor, strawberry flavor, gum flavor, whatever he's feeling in the mood for that day. He's not picky when it comes to his semi-daily ice cream.

And fuck, Issei never liked sweets. Not really.

It’s too much, he’d claim, pushing away his cake. It’s too heavy, he’d whine, asking his mother to finish his dessert. He’d just really rather not, he would explain, turning Oikawa’s offer of toffee down.

It sticks to his teeth, it soaks his tongue, it makes him twist his mouth from how _much_ it is.

Takahiro links their arms together while complaining loudly about the unbearable heat, his fair coppery eyelashes fluttering and his school shirt clinging to his pale back, he has the top two buttons undone and Issei's eyes keep fucking wandering down to the mole under his left collarbone.

He wants to kiss the sweat-slick skin and taste salt on his tongue.

His mouth is at the tip of the lolly, pink tongue peeking out lazily to lick at the white vanilla cream.

It’s been three years so Issei is well practiced in the art of not tripping over ones feet as one watches Hanamaki Takahiro savor a sweet food.

Takahiro’s sneakers are black and white, identical to Issei’s but a size smaller. Issei’s laces are untied and dirty from dragging against the ground. Takahiro’s laces are clean white, recently washed and tied around his ankles.

He’s so careful, so put together and laid back all at once. Issei wants to mess him up, wants to see him being honest. He likes when Takahiro is honest, when they’re all alone and he relaxes.

His tongue catches melting cream at the base of the vanilla pop.

Issei doesn’t trip, but it’s a close thing, and he tears his gaze away from that pink mouth and he knows it’s curved up into a smirk.

Takahiro doesn’t do it on purpose, of course.

But thing is, he doesn’t have to.

He tells himself firmly that he’s done staring shamelessly for the day.

A small noise of approval, a little hum, has Issei glancing at him instantly, unwittingly.

_A siren, he swears._

Issei is soaking in his own sweat and he’s dying to jump into the ocean salt.

Takahiro’s smirk is wide as he licks the ice pop from base to tip.

Issei’s eyes widen and he swallows hard, and his cheeks are burning but he can’t look away this time, not even as his pants get a little too tight and the back of his neck gets a little too warm.

Sweat trickles down his back as Takahiro gives his ice cream another long, languid, deliberate lick.

‘What’s up, Issei,’ he hums. Issei’s response dies away as his tongue flits out again.

He mutters a demeaning insult under his breath and the flush only makes his dark skin darker as Takahiro laughs softly.

He does this every other fucking day. It’s like the second it sunk in how tragically attracted Issei is to him, he’d made it his mission to give Issei a boner the second he gets in his sights.

It’s mindblowing and so painful.

Issei just wants to go home and attempt to drown himself in the shower. Attempt, because he knows he’ll fail, because he’ll be hyper aware of Takahiro lying on his bedroom floor with his shirt off and borrowed pant legs cuffed up to his knees, half asleep and listening to Arctic Monkeys from Issei’s Spotify account and the creaking sound of the fan spinning.

The sun is hot. The sky is blue. The pavement is grey. Issei sneaks glances.

Takahiro bites a quarter of his vanilla ice lolly clean off.

Issei muffles a whine.

Takahiro’s mouth twists up satisfied and smug and wet pink. He wants to drown himself in that mouth.

Issei doesn’t like sweets. He likes spicy chicken wings and bitter dark chocolate and sour cream and onion chips and something with a sharp tang to it. He figures that’s why he likes Takahiro so much.

They’re two blocks away from the general store. Issei’s hands are shoved deep in his pockets, the sky is bright blue and the sun is a ball of hot white and his and Takahiro’s schoolbags are slung over one shoulder. They’re heavy but, he reasons, Takahiro is busy eating his ice lolly.

How, Issei explains, could he _possibly_ make him carry his own bag when his mouth- when his _tongue_ is- when he’s _busy._

They’re two blocks away from the general store and Takahiro takes a quick, long lick of his vanilla ice pop and then offers the spit slick side to Issei.

Issei fights the instant urgent need to shut his eyes and dissolve into a puddle.

‘Want some?’

His eyes are glinting. His eyelids look shiny from sweat and the mole under his mouth looks very kissable and his cheeks are a delightful pink.

He sets his jaw, tries to tell himself _no_. Tries to practice self-control. Issei doesn’t like sweets.

Takahiro tilts his head. His coppery lashes flutter.

The sweat on his flushed, freckle dusted cheeks is like a layer of highlighter, Issei thinks absurdly.

_It’s embarrassing._

He gives in and wraps his hand around Takahiro’s where he’s holding the ice cream stick and bends his head down, takes a long, slow lick of ice cream.

Vanilla on his mouth, overly sweet and too much and fucking delicious when it comes with the win of Takahiro’s spit. Takahiro’s cool knuckles beneath his palm, and his own fingers curve closer around his fingertips. Issei wonders often if the level of obsessed he is with his boy is unhealthy.

He glances up, swallowing vanilla ice cream, head overrun with incoherent mostly-noise thoughts on how Takahiro’s tongue was on the ice cream that’s in his stomach now.

Takahiro is watching him and their faces are inches from each other, they’ve stopped on the sidewalk. Feet pointed at each other. That means something, he’s pretty sure.

He’s pretty sure sharing an ice lolly every day after school means something too.

Takahiro’s smile is slow and as bright as the sun, that single dangly ear piercing glinting bright, his jaw sharp and tilted to look up at Issei.

Issei stares back, lovestruck.

‘Takahiro,’ he mouths.

‘Yeah,’ he replies.

Issei wets his mouth.

‘You’ve got a ‘lil, uh-‘

Issei tightens his fingers around Takahiro’s hand and gently tugs his hand up and the vanilla lolly with it.

Cream smudges against the corner of Takahiro’s mouth. Issei cups his cheek and thumbs it off, sucks the vanilla off his thumb.

Takahiro swallows and Issei feels his jaw move under his palm. His eyes are dark and molten, lips parted.

‘Got it, baby,’ Issei murmurs.

‘God, you’re so fucking embarrassing,’ Takahiro whispers.

‘I’m a disappointment, s’true,’ Issei agrees.

‘You could have kissed it off.’

At that he flushes violently, and Takahiro laughs loudly, shaking his head.

‘Fuck, you’re a loser.’

‘I am,’ he admits. ‘I also really, really want to kiss you.’

Takahiro’s beam widens and Issei feels the need to add weakly, ‘Even though you’re a horrible person who’s been teasing me for weeks,’ at the end, like it’ll make it any less humiliating how _easy_ he is for Takahiro.

It just comes out plaintive and pathetic.

Takahiro says, aghast, ‘Just _weeks?_ Holy fuck, you’re _dense_ ,’ and then jerks his hand up and smears vanilla ice cream all over Issei’s mouth.

Issei laughs as Takahiro surges forward to kiss him and he cups his jaw tighter, fingers brushing against his dyed hair, long ends curled and damp from sweat and his tongue is amazing and his mouth tastes like vanilla and hot pink skies.

Issei loves summer, he loves summer, he loves summer.

He loves summer and he loves his boy.

Takahiro’s mouth is sweet tasting and he bites Issei’s bottom lip and sucks it into his mouth.

Issei melts into him like the ice cream dripping down their fingers. Takahiro’s hand wraps around his waist to tug him closer with his fist bunched up in the material of his school shirt.

Issei pulls back and their shared breath is vanilla and Issei’s head is swimming, swimming.

Takahiro’s silver eyes reflect the bright blue sky and Issei dives back in for more from that laughing red mouth and slides his hand down to cup at the vanilla white, sweat-slick skin at his fine, delicate neck.

Takahiro kisses him hard like the way Issei’s always wanted to be kissed.

The sun is hot. The sky is blue. The concrete is grey. Their pinkies link together and they lick at the melted remains of the vanilla ice pop and Issei sucks Takahiro’s thumb into his mouth in an entirely obscene manner.

Payback is sweet. Takahiro’s eyes glaze over ever so slightly. Takahiro’s cheeks are a lovely red. Takahiro’s mouth tastes like vanilla.

His thumb pops out of Issei’s mouth and he gives it one last lick, tasting like skin-salt and vanilla.

Takahiro wrenches his hand away and pulls Issei’s hair to distract him from how red his cheeks and ears are. He’s adorable, Issei is in love.

Issei might like sweet things.

(the shower is a shared ordeal and issei puts the wooden ice lolly stick in his brother’s collection and the arctic monkeys song has takahiro out like a light and snoring on his chest as issei’s hand cards through his damp pink hair. issei loves one, terrible, frustrating, overcomplicated, cavity sweet thing.)

**Author's Note:**

> follow my [twitter,](https://twitter.com/caandlelit) and my [matsuhana playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/74RiRixmdIovsGnL2MWewq?si=GISzJ981QvmgWMdvbsuPsA)  
> 


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